Life does not often permit us to give back a kindness. But I have been that lucky. Not only was I able to pass on the deed, but I returned it in part at least to the person who gave it to me. This is how it came about.
My aunt Herzie had looked after me when I was a baby long ago, after my mother had an accident to her foot which left her crippled for a number of years. Herzie was the youngest of six children of whom my father was the eldest. She was fifteen years old when her distraught brother handed her the smelly bundle of nappies that was me at three months. Babies were an unknown quantity to her.
Last December, some sixty-five years later, my aunt was rushed to hospital and remained there for upwards of a month while tests were carried out to define her illness. It was an anxious time for her family.
I decided to offer to stay with my aunt for a month to relieve her exhausted daughter and son-in-law who had journeyed from interstate to be with her on her release from hospital some three months before. I am writing about the month we spent together when our roles of carer and person in need were reversed. I enjoyed that time to renew old bonds with my aunt and I also took the chance to ponder a few of life's little conundrums which face us all in advancing age.
Herzie lives in Fisher, a suburb of Canberra. Since she is aged eighty, it is not surprising that she is frail in a number of respects, but not in spirit. Herzie has a complacent nature except for the occasional time when she digs in her heels and I knew this.
I was prepared for heavy physical care. After all, I had to make up for a lot of dirty nappies all those years ago. I thought, for example, that I might have to lift and carry her, but that did not happen. My back however reacted to the unusual movements I made each day. If I could have walked or exercised more I might have overcome this.
I did not expect to feel tired, bone-shatteringly tired, as I used to feel when I first brought my own baby daughter home from hospital. The days never seemed long enough to get everything done nor the nights long enough to get in enough sleep.
Nor had I understood the implications of not being able to leave my aunt alone. Thank Heavens for my sister who came regularly to give me relief.
When I first arrived, my perception was that Herzie really wanted to continue to live alone in her house. As her official assessment report phrased it, she was grieving for her lost mobility. Many of her actions and statements argued for that. For example, in a very warm and loving meeting I shared with her gentle grandson and his wife, she cried when talking about not wanting to "go into a home".
Or, when she heard that I had offered to come up to Canberra to stay, her daughter tells me that news was enough to get her out of bed each morning, washing herself, and dressing.
I did not want to set her agenda but I wanted to encourage her to test her mobility. I suggested she initiate regular tasks like feeding her beloved dog, washing and drying up, deciding when the laundry needed to be done, and supervising her own medication schedule. She took on these tasks willingly and by the end of the month was even bringing in dry laundry from the line over several trips up and down a flight of steps and even cooking a light meal.
But then some other incidents or statements seemed to indicate that she doubted her ability to be independent or that she did not wish to cause her family anxiety by living alone.
In retrospect, her indecision is understandable. However much one might wish to be independent, being eighty years old means that every day is punctuated by private reminders that one needs to make major adjustments to achieve this.
This issue of "being alone" was a major one, both for Herzie and for her family. We talked a lot about it and why it was a worry. We decided that one risk was that she could fall and need help. The more serious risk was not the fall, for that could happen whether she is alone or with others. Rather the danger lies in how long it is before she can summon help. We worked out several ways to overcome this, among them using a medical alert pendant and making use of Red Cross Services for homebound people. These include a quick daily phone call to check on the state of the older person's health.
Another major issue, as yet unresolved, is whether or not she can and should continue to drive her car. Although she could descend only with difficulty to the underhouse garage, she stated repeatedly that she looked forward to the time when she could drive her little dog to enjoy a walk on a hill nearby.
It was plain to me, however, that many good and safer alternatives were available, if she would consider them. And she could still continue to live in her own home. Armies of volunteers are waiting to do such regular tasks as taking one shopping, or changing library books, or driving her to church or to exercise her dog. Several day care programs in local community centres also arrange pickup by bus for their regular excursions.
I spent a lot of time on the phone finding out such things and navigating my way through the bureaucratic systems set up by government at every level to make it easy for the older person to remain living independently at home.
At the end of the month I am grateful for the experience I had to learn about being eighty years old and to consider how I would like to be treated if I reach that age.
First, I now know that as an older person:
1. I have a right to take risks
Part and parcel of this is the confidence to assert this right. As with other areas in life, a positive attitude and confidence in oneself is a major ingredient in carrying out any successful endeavour.
2. I have a responsibility to people who love me/feel responsible for me to minimise those risks
3. I must give them permission not to be responsible for me
This release from a perceived duty is very important,. for strong filial feelings can involve guilt, especially with all the emotional hangovers in our society from times when the only people in nursing homes were those without families. That time has gone and society is very different today. One can, and indeed should, "shop" for the residential care of our choice and lifestyle. Whatever remains of our nuclear family is not structured to care for relatives in the decades of old age. As in my aunt's case, neither of her two children even lives in the same town or state as she.
4. I must expect to be confused about what I want and ought to do at that age.
5. At age eighty, what I want matters more than what others want and so I have a right to be listened to, a right to seek and receive help and information to help me decide on my lifestyle.
About the carer's needs I have learned that as a care provider I need:
1. adequate rest and must define that
2. scheduled relief
3. exercise away from the house
4. time to attend to own life and interests
5. to be able to call on outside help.
At the end of the month it is obvious that my aunt and her family need time to set her new course and indeed they have it, thanks to the improvement in her health. Help and information is available in abundance. That initial indecision which distressed her and her family can be turned to advantage for many choices are available to them right now.
She sent me an e-mail after I left (her first online communication) and said they were looking into Medi-Alert services. She had also booked herself for two weeks into hostel-type accommodation to "sample" it. I have since heard that she has been winning at games there like quoits and indoor bowls and she sounds interested and excited about the choices she is making and I now feel confident that these will be easier than two months ago.
I hope I can do as well when I am at that moment in life. It is, after all, just like the teen years, another phase of life.
Notes: I am indebted to my aunt for her input into these observations but I do not hold her responsible for them. I am also indebted to the Co-ordinator at the Weston Creek Community Centre in the Australian Capital Territory who spent time educating and informing me about the support services that are widely available for older people in my aunt's position.
My aunt's unusual personal name derives from the name of the spa town, Herzberg, on the Elster River in Germany where her father Hugo Maximilian Knie was born in 1875.